Incomplete

Well the family reunion weekend is over, and I'm headed back to California. The oppressive presence of my solitary existence is never felt more, than when I am set to leave such environs. I find myself feeling largely incomplete. I guess it makes me acknowledge a void in my life, which most of the time, I artfully glaze over and ignore (void? what void?). Perhaps I am the proverbial ostrich? It's really a defense mechanism, otherwise enabling me to cope with years of solitude.

Now that I'm sitting at the airport, waiting to board my flight, I feel a sense of longing for the love, warmth, and affection you only experience when surrounded with the bustle and energy of a vibrant family. Woe is me, has never been my modus operandi, and now I close my eyes and heart and head back to the task at hand: climbing the mountain. This is the life I chose and I must remain disciplined and focused*. Albeit, I want to say, it leaves me a little empty and, more than a little, sad.

*I sound like I'm convincing myself? Well, I am.